Perfect Ham Sandwich

ham sandwich

If you have children you will probably relate to this father.
The names have been changed to protect the dignity of the father.

As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection.

A thick slab of ham, toasted bread, crisp lettuce, garden tomatoes and plenty of expensive, light brown, gourmet mustard.

The corners of my jaw aching in anticipation, I carried it to the picnic table in our backyard, picked it up with both hands but was stopped by my wife suddenly at my side.

“Hold Tommy (our six-week-old son) while I get my sandwich,” she said.

I had him balanced between my left elbow and shoulder and was reaching again for the ham sandwich when I noticed a streak of mustard on my fingers.

I love mustard. I had no napkin. I licked it off. It was not mustard.

No man ever put a baby down faster.

It was the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue sticking out of my mouth.

With a washcloth in each hand I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do, only I did it on my tongue.

After witnessing the entire messy incident, my wife said,

“Now you know why they call that mustard ‘Poupon.’”

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